


black butterflies

by eukaryidiotic



Category: Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury
Genre: Angst, Other, Poetry, i want to make a slow burn joke so badly lmao, it's implied that a dude gets burned alive and i'm not sure what to tag that as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 15:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10699623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eukaryidiotic/pseuds/eukaryidiotic
Summary: a poem. :^)





	black butterflies

**Author's Note:**

> all lines were taken from the original book (part of the assignment). words in brackets were added or moved from their original places in the sentence.

They hurried downstairs.

[He] staggered after them in the kerosene fumes,

the brass nozzle in his fists,

this great python spitting its [venom]

 

_Delicately, like the petals of a flower_

the blood pounded in his head

his hands were playing symphonies of blazing and burning,

bringing down the tatters and ruins of history.

_Light the first page, light the second page_

He strode in a swarm of fireflies.

 

Now [he] was floating in a sudden peacefulness.

[He'd] been thinking about the fire last week,

about [a] man whose liberty they'd fixed,

they took him screaming off to the asylum,

He wasn't insane

 

_Any man’s insane who thinks he can fool us_

_Remember, burn them or they'll burn you_

_It's as simple as that._

 

[He] gazed to the wall with the million forbidden books,

Their names leapt in [the] fire.

[He] glanced at a single line,

_Once upon a time..._

"Shut up!"

 

[He] found himself on his feet, the flapping book in his fist

his hands had been infected and soon it would be his arms

he could feel the poison working up his wrists

_Come on, let’s be cheery_

_let's laugh and be happy, stop crying now_

_We'll have a party!_

 

His eyes all orange flame, he flicked the igniter.

_each [page] becomes a black butterfly_

the sound of death, the sound of jets cutting the sky in two

pieces beyond the horizon

 

_Beautiful, eh?_


End file.
